The Runaway Heiress. Anne O'Brien

beside Frances. As she rose nervously to her feet he took her hand, tucking it under his arm, and pressed it firmly when she made a move to pull away.

      ‘Perhaps I should inform you that I have asked your niece to do me the honour of becoming my wife.’ A smile touched his mouth momentarily, but his eyes remained cold and watchful.

      Lady Torrington’s eyes narrowed, lips thinned. ‘You must know that she is not yet of age. You do not have Torrington’s permission.’

      ‘With respect, I do not give that for his permission.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘After her treatment at Torrington’s hands, Miss Hanwell has expressed a preference that she should not return to Torrington Hall. It is my intention to fulfil that wish.’

      ‘I do not know what you intend to imply about her upbringing or what she has seen fit to tell you. I would not put too much weight on her honesty, my lord.’ The Viscountess’s eyes snapped with temper as she glanced at her niece. ‘Frances must return home to her family. You will hear from my husband, sir.’ She pulled on her gloves, clearly ruffled, but refusing to give way.

      ‘Indeed, my lady. I am at his service. Perhaps you will stay for tea?’

      ‘No, I thank you. I hope you know what you are doing, Frances. You would be wise to heed my warnings. I would be sorry if the story of your abduction of my niece was to become common knowledge, my lord.’

      Aldeborough felt Frances’s hand quiver in his grasp and try to pull free, but he merely tightened his hold and smiled reassuringly down at her.

      ‘Abduction? I think not.’ His smile, Frances decided, held all the sincerity of a cat releasing a mouse, only to pounce a second time. ‘If it does, my lady, I might be compelled to enlighten our acquaintances about Torrington’s role in the events. It is perhaps not good ton for a guardian to subject his ward to a lifestyle unfit for a servant, much less to make her the object of unseemly abuse. I would advise you of the foolishness of attempting to threaten me—or my future bride.’

      ‘Then good day to you, my lord.’ Viscountess Torrington inclined her head in false civility, bosom heaving in righteous indignation, an unattractive patch of colour high on her cheekbones. ‘As for you, Frances, I hope that you do not live to regret this day. Unfortunately you were always headstrong and selfish, in spite of all the care we lavished on you!’ In a swirl of outraged velvet and ostrich plumes, Lady Torrington left, sweeping past Rivers, who had materialised to bow her out of the room.

      ‘So! You are headstrong and selfish, are you?’ Aldeborough smiled as Frances grimaced. ‘And what warnings were those? Or can I guess?’

      ‘Only your dark and dreadful reputation, sir.’

      He grinned, a sudden flash of immense charm that gave Frances insight into why so many misguided members of her sex were willing to be beguiled by the Marquis of Aldeborough. She chose to ignore the fact that it made her own heart beat just a little more quickly and put it down to the effects of her aunt’s harsh destruction of her character.

      ‘What I do not understand,’ mused Frances, ‘is why she was so determined to take me back. At best I was treated as a poor relation, at worst as the lowest of the servants. There was never any love in my upbringing. Only duty. And why should Charles consider marrying me if my reputation is so besmirched?’ A slight frown marred the smoothness of her brow. Aldeborough was moved by a sudden inclination to smooth it away with his fingers. He resisted the temptation. Matters were difficult enough.

      ‘That is not something for you to worry about. It is no longer necessary.’

      ‘You are very kind. And, indeed, I am honoured, but you need not marry me. The mistakes of a night—my mistakes—should not be allowed to blight the rest of your life.’

      ‘I was thinking of the rest of your life, Miss Hanwell.’

      Frances raised her eyes to search his fine-featured face, touched by the compassion in his voice, but seeing little evidence of it in his expression. No man had the right to have such splendid eyes, she thought inconsequentially. Dark grey and thickly fringed with black lashes. But they held no emotion, certainly no warmth or sympathy, merely a cold, calculating strength of will.

      She shook her head. Before she could reply, Rivers entered the drawing room again on silent feet and coughed gently.

      ‘Sir Ambrose Dutton, my lord.’

      Aldeborough turned to greet his friend, instantly recognised by Frances as one of her uncle’s guests from the previous night. Her heart sank even further, if that were possible.

      She could not face such an embarrassing encounter yet with someone who had witnessed her shame.

      ‘Excuse me, my lord. Sir Ambrose.’ She dropped a curtsy and followed Rivers from the room with as much dignity as she could muster, the enormity of her situation finally hitting home as she became uncomfortably aware of the cynical and knowing amusement curling Sir Ambrose’s lips at the very moment he saw her unmistakably in deep and intimate conversation with his host.

      ‘Well, Ambrose? Was I expecting you to drop by this morning?’ Aldeborough’s expression was a hard won study in guilelessness.

      Ambrose’s brows rose. So that was how he wished to play the scene. So be it. ‘Yes, you were. How’s your head, Hugh?’ He cast his riding whip and gloves on to a side table. ‘You don’t deserve to be on your feet yet after Torrington’s inferior claret.’

      ‘If it’s any consolation, my head is probably worse than yours.’ He grimaced and threw himself down into one of the armchairs. ‘I hope I don’t look as destroyed as you do!’

      ‘You do, Hugh, you do!’ He paused for a moment—and then plunged. ‘Forgive me for touching on a delicate subject. But why is Miss Hanwell apparently in residence at the Priory? It would appear that you had a more interesting night than I had appreciated.’

      ‘You do not know the half of it!’

      ‘So are you going to tell me?’ Exasperation won. ‘Or do I have to wring it out of you?’

      ‘Why not?’ Aldeborough took a deep breath, rubbed his hands over his face as if to erase the unwelcome images, and proceeded to enlighten Sir Ambrose on the events of the night.

      ‘And so,’ he finished, ‘I brought her here, too drunk to think of the consequences. Although I am not sure of the alternatives since we were halfway to the Priory before I discovered her. I suppose I could have turned round and taken her straight back to Torrington. Still …’ There was more than a little self-disgust in his voice as he glanced up and frowned at Ambrose. ‘It was not well done, was it?’

      ‘No.’ Ambrose, as ever, was brutally frank. ‘It is always the same—too much alcohol and you can be completely irrational. And as for the girl, throwing herself in your way so obviously. Was she worth it?’

      ‘Show some respect, damn you!’ Aldeborough surprised his friend by surging to his feet, rounding on him in a sudden whiplash of temper. ‘Do you really think I would seduce an innocent young girl?’

      ‘Probably not. Probably too drunk.’

      Aldeborough relaxed a little, bared his teeth in the semblance of a grin, admitting the truth of it. ‘You should know—I have asked Miss Hanwell to marry me.’

      Ambrose paused as the significance of this statement sank in. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t realise. But, Hugh!’ He rose to his feet, took a hasty turn about the room and returned to stand before the fireplace. ‘Don’t let them trap you into marriage. You wouldn’t want to be connected with the Torrington set. And apart from that, she would not seem to have much to recommend her. She is no beauty.’

      ‘No, she is not. But I believe that she needs a refuge. I can provide one.’ Aldeborough turned away with weary resignation. ‘What does it matter? As my loving mother would tell you, it is high time I took a wife and produced an heir to the Lafford estates. Any girl would marry me for my wealth and title. At least Miss